The Candle Burns
by Eady of Old
Summary: With the time for the wedding fast approaching, Elsie Hughes felt more than a bit nervous. My first Carson/Mrs. Hughes-centered story.


**The Candle Burns**

**Summary: **With the time for the wedding fast approaching, Elsie Hughes felt more than a bit nervous. My first Carson/Mrs. Hughes story.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Downton Abbey.

**A/N: Chelsie isn't my usual fare, but I'll beg an indulgence. I honestly don't think this is how it will be written, but after discussions on tumblr, I could see S6 going somewhat in this direction. So this is what Eady does when she starts dabbling in angsty prospects and notions and stays up writing on various things until midnight. Not to spoil anyone, but this story does not have a very happy ending. :::coughcharacterdeathcough::::**

* * *

_"I never thought I'd be standing here today," she said. _

_Her eyes swept over his face as she spoke, and then she turned to look at all their assembled friends. They were people she had known from working at the Abbey - friends and colleagues and neighbors. Her sister Becky sat in the front row, quiet in the moment. _

_Elsie turned to look back at him, her heart swelling up so much that she could hardly speak._

* * *

"But don't you want a church wedding?" he asked, using that peculiar tone of voice he sometimes brought out just for her, when he wanted to convince or cajole her into changing her mind.

"Why should I? It isn't as though I'll be a blushing young bride."

In truth, she had trouble thinking of herself as a bride at all. At her age, marriage seemed rather out of the question until Mr. Carson had shocked her with his proposal. And despite his gentle suggestions when they spoke together in her sitting room that she should call him 'Charles,' she still had trouble thinking of him as anything other than Mr. Carson.

"Well, you'll always be young and beautiful to me, blushing or otherwise," he said, keeping his voice low so no one would overhear.

While news of their upcoming wedding had gotten out, they were careful to maintain the utmost decorum while working. Elsie had trouble restraining herself, of course, feeling more like a giddy school girl most days than a modest and mature woman charged with running a household. She rather envied Mr. Carson's ability to always appear so steadfastly severe as it might help her contain her nervous excitement.

And she was both nervous and excited.

"It's just, I've never been married before," she confided to Mrs. Patmore early one morning when no one else was awake but Daisy, although the younger woman was busy in the kitchen as they enjoyed a cup of tea in the servants' hall.

"Well if you're looking for someone to explain the birds and the bees-" the cook began, looking about herself with growing alarm.

"No, not that," Elsie said, snorting in bemusement. "It isn't as though I've been a sequestered nun all these years. No, I just meant... sharing a life with someone. Living in the same house and planning for the same future."

The cook took this in as she stared distantly into space. A moment later, she looked back at her friend as she remarked, "I've never had to think about it much. I knew I'd be in service me whole life, not that there were many lads beating down my door even if I hadn't."

With a gentle smile, Elsie said, "Well, if Mister Carson and I can make a go of it at our age, I'd say there's hope for anyone."

Mrs. Patmore gave a wistful glance into the kitchen, her mind obviously on someone other than herself. "I'd rather Daisy had a chance at true romance," she said. "She's young, yet. Best years of her life ahead of her."

The housekeeper smiled at the sentiment, but it stayed with her throughout her day.

_Best years of her life ahead of her._

Had Elsie wasted such precious time with her own life? She genuinely liked the way her life had turned out, and she felt she'd become a valued member of a very prestigious household. But more than that, she'd grown attached to the people around her, those in her charge and those she served. While not one to admit playing favorites, she looked on Anna with particular fondness. The young woman had been through so much over the past few years, and Elsie was grateful she'd been able to help her what little she could.

She looked on the other maids with fondness, including talkative Madge and quiet Lily. And the occasional letter still arrived in the post from Ethel, who seemed to be enjoying her work and what little time she was allowed to spend with her son, little Charlie.

Of course, Thomas was the black sheep of the household servants, but Elsie regarded him with more than just the minimum amount of tolerance he received from Mr. Carson. She would never venture to call the under butler misunderstood or even a kind human being, but he did have his moments and she could feel sorry for even those she did not particularly like.

Such was always the case with housekeepers. They were neither mothers nor true employers as the lady of the house could overrule her decisions at any moment. But thankfully she and Lady Grantham had a decent working relationship and did not step on each other's toes too greatly.

"Are you getting excited?" Anna asked her later that evening, ducking into Elsie's sitting room on her way back from dressing Lady Mary.

She smiled even as she answered the lady's maid, "I don't know that 'excited' is the right word. But I am looking forward to it, yes."

"Have you picked out what you're going to wear?"

Anna was never prone to excessive sentimentality, but she'd shown genuine interest in the pending wedding between the housekeeper and Mr. Carson. And indeed, Elsie found that Anna was the only one she could talk to about such things, being the only married female servant in the house.

"I was thinking my purple skirt and jacket, the one I wear sometimes for Easter."

"Oh, that would look lovely." The other woman beamed at her before offering, "I could put together a bouquet for you, if you like."

"Oh, don't go to any bother..."

"But it would be no trouble, Mrs. Hughes."

They both paused, taking in the moment. Not too many years earlier, they would never have considered having this conversation. Women who went into service as a career did not usually marry, and certainly not women of Elsie's age. And yet... there they were, discussing wedding clothes and flowers.

"I wish I'd been there for your ceremony," she said aloud, looking at Anna.

The lady's maid had recovered well from the months she'd spent in prison, but there was still a dullness to her, as though her natural light had not quite rekindled. But with the return of Mr. Bates from Ireland and the police clearing them both of any wrongdoing in Mr. Green's death, she did seem to be improving every day.

Anna ducked her head at the regret in Elsie's voice, and she might have even blushed. "I should have told you what we were planning, but I wanted to keep it a secret in case the worse came to pass."

"Which it did."

Anna nodded. With a deliberate exhale, she stated, "But that's all behind us now. And I'm sure your wedding will end on a much happier note."

_I can't think of a worse note to end on_, Elsie thought to herself, but gave the younger woman a reassuring nod of the head.

The real trouble with her pending marriage to Mr. Carson had nothing to do with the police or investigations or even true nervousness. But rather, Elsie did not know how to be anything but a housekeeper. She had no idea how to be a _wife_. She had her own opinions on things, often as strong as Mr. Carson's, and she did not relish the idea of relinquishing her status.

"Well, it isn't like we're in the 1800's anymore," she muttered to herself as she went about her work in her sitting room, going over invoices and wondering how much extra flour Mrs. Patmore might order if left to her own devices. "And Mister Carson is a very decent man."

And she loved him. That fact stood out more than anything, compelling her to go through with this tremendous life change despite the fear which pricked at her skin and left her breathless at odd moments. She loved Charles Carson and she wanted to be his wife. Everything else would just have to fall into place.

* * *

The weeks until the wedding burned away like the hottest of candles until only a few days' worth of wax remained in the fixture. All the preparations had been made, the flowers ordered and the decorations prepared. Mrs. Patmore would be making the luncheon, and Anna had offered to accompany the chauffeur into York to retrieve Elsie's sister from the hospital where she lived. All of the family was abuzz with excitement, and Mr. Carson had informed her that they all planned to attend.

"All of them?" she asked, somewhat taken aback. She had expected Lady Mary and perhaps even Lady Grantham, but not necessarily his Lordship. But no, they had all kept their schedules cleared and the ladies were picking out clothes to wear for the occasion.

"Even the Dowager Countess," Mr. Carson informed her with much gravity.

Elsie's eyes went wide at the pronouncement, and for a moment she was quite speechless. Finally, she managed to mutter, "Well, that is a surprise."

"And Mrs. Crawley mentioned to me last night at dinner that she would like to attend, if you were in agreement. She even asked if she might bring someone to accompany her."

Blinking twice, she took a moment to let the notion of Isobel Crawley bringing a date to their wedding sink in before answering routinely, "Well of course, she'd be very welcome."

"And as you know, the footmen and maids wish to come, and the kitchen maids..."

He glanced at her with trepidation, but Elsie simply nodded. Everyone would be invited to their wedding, if she had anything to say about it, including the youngest and lowliest of hall boys. The fact that they would be in the company of the likes of the Earl of Grantham and his most esteemed family was something everyone would just have to live with.

"Have you picked a best man?" she asked him, hopeful of a distraction.

"I have, although I'm not sure if it is quite appropriate..."

"Who would be inappropriate to ask?"

He looked away for several long seconds, his face drawn with severe lines as he considered the question. After a moment, he said quietly, "I had thought to ask his Lordship."

"His Lordship?" she repeated the words with surprise but forced herself not to make any declarations while under the influence of such shock.

Rather, Elsie reminded herself to reason through the suggestion, remembering that Mr. Carson had few friends besides herself and none of truly an equal status. The servants were all below him and the family all above, leaving him in the untenable position of being both a servant, and not quite a servant still. Lady Mary looked on him as fondly as a godfather and even Lord Grantham sought out his wisdom on more occasions than other lords would deem proper.

"Have you approached him about it?" she asked finally.

"Not yet, no. I hate to be a bother..."

Biting her tongue so as not to remind the man that their wedding was in three days, Elsie said gently, "I think he'd be honored to be asked. And if he felt any... apprehension about fulfilling the duties, I am sure that Mister Bates would have no qualms about stepping in if necessary."

"Yes, I'm sure that Mister Bates would do an admirable job," Mr. Carson said with a nod, but she could tell that his heart was not in such a choice.

While he and the valet got along well enough, they were men of two different backgrounds. In many ways, Mr. Bates had been changed by his time as a soldier and the years in spent in prison. He held back, reined in by a steadfast sense of honor which the butler never truly understood. On the other hand, Mr. Carson's black and white view of the world made it easier to approach him on certain matters. He valued hard work and economy as much or more than most men of his age.

"I still believe you should ask his Lordship," Elsie urged him. "I'm sure he'd be honored."

"Do you really think so?"

He asked the question with such a great measure of apprehension that she had to give him a reassuring smile. "I really do. It shows how much you value him, to ask him to fulfill such an important role."

"I suppose so."

She knew that he was on the edge of deciding, and that she should not push him any further lest the weight of her opinion catch him off balance and leave him uncertain of his decision. Rather, he had to reach it on his own and in his own time.

Elsie left him to ruminate on the issue as she continued about her work. Just because they were planning a wedding did not mean that the house would run itself. The upstairs rooms still needed to be turned out, and in a few weeks she'd need to give all the guest rooms a proper going over, not to mention the cupboards in the attics which hadn't been touched for a winter or more.

Occupying herself with all the dozens of tasks which could easily fill her every waking hour, Elsie avoided her nervousness as the big day steadily approached.

* * *

That evening, she was down in the servants hall when the news came.

_They've called for Doctor Clarkson. He's collapsed._

Her mind was already re-ordering schedules and determining the need for extra food for anyone who might stop by the house to call after his Lordship's health. It took several moments for her to register the name attached to the alarm - _Mr. Carson_.

Mister Carson had collapsed.

She heard the words but could not connect them with her image of the man, the man who was almost her husband. Her fiance. The man she was about to marry.

"He was just standing there one moment, and the next he was clutching at his chest and falling to the ground."

Mister Molesley spoke quietly, almost reverently as he gave the account. His eyes were glued to the far wall as though he were reliving the moment. But Elsie could offer him none of her attention as her legs began the process her mind had not yet caught up with. She had to go up. She had to see him.

Anna met her on the stairs, entangling their fingers and slowing Elsie's progress as she said, "I've just heard about Mister Carson. You shouldn't go in just yet-"

She wrenched herself from the younger woman's grasp, very nearly pushing her aside as she marched with determination the rest of the way up to the main floor only to break into a run. Elsie ignored doors and propriety and every measure of societal distinction as she made her way to the dining room. Inside she learned what impotent chaos looked like.

Thomas was there, his hands over the butler's chest, pushing on it up and down. Lady Mary was on her hands and knees next to him, saying things to Mr. Carson in her most mighty and not-to-be-trifled-with voice. The woman commanded him to live, to take breath and live. Mrs. Crawley was on the other side, giving instructions and monitoring matters while beset with a most unsatisfied expression. She looked up as the door pushed open, her eyes hopeful for the doctor until she recognized Elsie.

"Mrs. Hughes," she stated dumbly, perhaps for lack of anything more to say on the matter. But the housekeeper had no attention for the woman.

Her eyes fell on Mr. Carson, and she knew just looking at him that it was all over. Thomas had done his best, but it was not to be. His lips were already turning blue, his body gone still under the younger man's desperate hands as he tried to will his heart to beat through brute force. The under butler was seething with desperation, with a rage at something which was on the edge of defeating him. He could not see the truth which had settled with such finality into Mrs. Crawley's eyes.

Elsie knelt down among them, her hand reaching across to cover Thomas'. The under butler gave off a low, almost primal cry of frustration as he sat back.

"I tried," he promised her through gasping breaths as he tried to recompose himself. "I tried so hard."

One hand massaged the other over his partial glove, the medical assistance he'd given either aggravating his injury or reminding him of his time in the war.

"I know you did, Thomas," Elsie told him, but her heart was not in the words. Rather, her heart lay dying on that dining room floor in front of her, tied up in the body of the man she'd loved far longer than she ever understood.

He was dead. The man she'd always been meant to marry was dead. And nothing anyone could do would ever bring him back to her. She suspected that he'd had a heart attack - she always had warned him to go easier on himself - but they would not know for certain, not right away.

She sat like a stone beside him until the doctor arrived, although at that point it was merely a formality. The world lapsed into an array of shadows, and Elsie's vision narrowed to almost nothing as her tears overtook her. At some point, they pried her away from him, Anna on one side and Mrs. Patmore on the other. They gathered her up between them and she allowed the two women to march her up to her room.

Elsie was put to bed like a child, her hair pulled down by Anna as the cook helped her out of her dress. She tried to assist them, putting her fingers to the tiny buttons, but the dullness of her perceptions made her fumble each attempt. In the end, she had no idea how they got her into a night gown and tucked into bed, but they managed it between them. And then they sat beside her the entire night long, first the cook and then the younger woman spelling her some hours before dawn.

But Elsie got no sleep. Her eyes stayed open and fixed to the candle which burned at her bedside. She had always known that it was nearing the end of its life, that their days together were numbered. But she had never thought they might be parted so _soon_, before they could truly be together...

* * *

The funeral was two days later, the day they should have been married. Elsie tried not to dwell on that detail. She tried not to dwell on much of anything. The world had muted itself to a thousand shades of gray, all color leaching into the ground where he was about to be laid to rest. She did not resent him the vibrant hues and shades, but rather hoped that he could enjoy them wherever he was at that moment, as she had no use for color or beauty any longer.

_Heaven_, she decided. He was in heaven keeping order and making certain that things were done properly.

She was not sure if she could speak, not in front of the others. Her grief had left her mute and weak, a veritable wreck of the woman she'd been before. But beneath the avalanche of sadness which had buried her, Elsie knew she would rise again. She had to, because that is what he would have wanted.

Mr. Carson.

She could not refer to him as Charles, not even in front of their assembled friends and family, the ones which should have been there to witness their affirmations of love to one another.

"I never thought I'd be standing here today," she said, her eyes clouding over as she looked at the coffin beside her and the man arranged inside of it.

"I rather thought I'd be standing over there, and that Mister Carson would be standing with me." She took a ragged breath, looking out over the assembled faces. And they waited for her, their attention rapt as they waited for what she had to say. "We were foolish to wait so long, I suppose, but that's just the nature of these things. Everyone thinks they have all the time in the world, until that time is taken from them."

She glanced over and could make out his face, forever set in a frown with his eyes closed. She would have no chance now of teasing him into an expression of amusement, and that hurt a great deal to think about. Looking away, she tried not to remember the solid presence of his body and the way the thick timber of his voice rolled over her like familiar waves from the sea. He always reminded her of home, both his strength and his vulnerability assuring her how much she was needed.

"I can't say I'm not sorry for wasting what time we had left," she said sadly, "but I can't call it a waste either, not truly. Mister Carson was the sort of man who always gave to others - to me, especially. Even when there seemed nothing left to give, he found a spare measure to parcel out to others. And that is how I will always remember him. Here, in my heart."

She pressed a closed fist to her chest and closed her eyes. Deep inside her, she imagined the gentle pressure of his lips against hers, an echo of a stolen kiss in his pantry some weeks before.

"And I will see him on the other side."

Her last words were quiet, so soft that few if any of the assembled guests might hear her. But to Elsie, it was a promise, a vow as it were. This was her day for making vows and promises, and in her heart, she did exactly that.

"I love you, Mister Carson," she murmured softly as her tears obscured her vision of the coffin. It did not hold his spirit, anyway. Nothing could do that. "And I will be seeing you again soon enough."

_fin_


End file.
